


Of Alien Abductions and Fleece Pajamas.

by embalmer56, princessladybug



Series: The Adventures of Baby Sherlock and Daddy Watson. [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Age Play, Americans Writing British Dialect, Bedtime, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Sleepy Sherlock, So we suck, Spanking, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1246876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embalmer56/pseuds/embalmer56, https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessladybug/pseuds/princessladybug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock really hates that pesky bedtime rule. </p><p>aka "Go the F*ck to Sleep!" As told by John Watson. </p><p>"No, seriously, go the f*ck to sleep!"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Alien Abductions and Fleece Pajamas.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. We played fast and loose with POV. It was not intentional, but we ended up liking how it reads. Hopefully it is not to traumatizing for you readers. It's one of the side effects of having multiple authors.  
> 2\. Thank you for all your feedback and kudos. It's been lovely.  
> 3\. Emmy is lazy and Stacy had to motivate her to write. You should help. Feed the Emmy with kudos and comments and love.  
> 4\. The training pants that Sherlock is wearing are real, and you can find a picture of them [here](http://www.baby-pants.com/training_Pants.php). I assume he has the dinosaur ones.  
> 5\. This is a consensual relationship.

* * *

 

John pulls back the covers on the bed.

  
"I'm not ready for bed, Daddy." Sherlock tries to look stern, but he doesn't cut a threatening figure in his blue fleece footy pajamas with John's grey jumper from the day before tucked over his shoulder.

  
"It's not even properly dark out yet."

  
John nods at this, "Yea, I know. Hop in."

  
Sherlock juts his chin for a moment defiantly before flopping on top of the covers with a huff, rolling on his side, facing away from Daddy.

  
John closes both eyes hard for a moment and takes a breath before maneuvering Sherlock under the covers.

  
"I don't know why I have to go to bed anyways. M'not tired at all."

  
"Yes Pet, I know. You've told me four times in the last hour," John murmurs as he sits on the bed next to Sherlock, running a hand over his fleece covered shoulder.

  
"And yet I'm in bed before the moon comes out."

  
"Yes well, you've been a bit of an insufferable brat all day and earned yourself an early bedtime, so here we are." Sherlock shots John a wounded look and John softens.

  
"Sorry Pet. Daddy is exhausted. Neither of us has been sleeping well, and I know you don't feel tired but you need the rest." John runs his fingers over Sherlock's cheek before cupping his face. Sherlock turns into the touch, nestling against John's palm.

  
"Can't I just have a spanking and stay up with you instead?" Sherlock's voice is impossibly small and for a moment John almost relents, but in the next instant Sherlock is yawning wide enough to pop his jaw.

  
"I think you just answered your own question love. Come give Daddy a cuddle so we can get you a proper tuck in." Sherlock's pouting but immediately sits up and let's himself be enveloped by daddy's waiting arms. There are warm kisses on his temple and a couple of squeezes from the arms wrapped around him. 

  
"Love you little man." John drops a last kiss on his forehead before guiding him back down and pulling the duvet up to his shoulders.

  
Sherlock settles back and rubs the sleeve of the jumper against his nose.

  
"You too, Daddy."

  
John gets up stiffly, psychosomatic or not his leg still hurts sometimes; and flips on the nightlight before moving to the door.

  
"G'nite Pet. Sweet dreams."

 

John closes the door most of the way and moves down the hall into the kitchen. It’s not like John plans to stay up and have fun without Sherlock. After little boys go to bed is when Daddy's do extremely unpleasant things, like tidy up the flat after a messy little boy leaves his mark on it or reads his paper with the familiar drone of the daily news on the telly as background. 

 

John has just settled down with his paper, when he hears the familiar creak of the floorboards. He should have known that an early bedtime was not going to go over with his little insomniac. Though Sherlock has not rounded the corner into the common room just yet and John's face is hidden from view, he clears his throat loudly.

 

"Back into bed, little love," he scolds, without even glancing up. 

 

"How did you know?" Sherlock asks, coming around the corner, a lovely pout on his face. He’s dragging John's jumper. 

 

"When you live with an intelligent little boy, you have to learn to do quick detective work," John explains, laying the paper on his lap to meet Sherlock's eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be in bed?"

 

"I need a drink." Sherlock says quickly, his eyes darting to the icebox.

 

John sighs loudly, his knee popping as he rises from the couch. "Let's fill your beaker, eh?" He gets down a plastic tumbler cup from the cupboard and fills it under the faucet. Once Sherlock takes a satisfied sip from the cup, John steers him back towards the bedroom. They repeat the process of being put to bed, including Sherlock listing ever reason why going to bed so early was irrational, and to John's surprise, unhealthy.

 

Still chuckling over Sherlock's ranting, he bends down to kiss his cheeks. "Remember, your rules are to stay in bed after Daddy puts you there." 

 

"Yes, but-

 

John presses a finger against Sherlock's lips. "No stropping. Be a good lad, and obey Daddy." Another kiss and John leaves the boy to pout until his heart’s content. 

 

"Daddy?" 

 

John pauses at the door, letting out another sigh with his finger on the light switch. "Yes Sherlock?"

 

"What if there are aliens and they come to take me away because of my superior brain activity and-“

 

"Sherlock Holmes," John cuts in, his tone stern. "IF aliens come, they would have to fight me to take you, but you know better. Go to sleep." 

 

Sherlock huffs as he pulls the duvet up to his chin and rolls onto his side. John leaves the room with a smile. Oh, the things the boy comes up with. 

 

He settles back down onto the sofa, getting lost in the local sports page and the droning sound of the telly. Then he hears it again. The tiny creak of the floorboard just outside the entrance to the sitting room. Could it be? No, Sherlock could not be defying him again. Looking up, he sees nothing, but he can feel the presence of his little boy just around the corner. Just as he’s about to tell him off, Sherlock's messy head peeks around the door frame of the kitchen.

 

"I need the loo." 

 

“You went to the loo just before Daddy put you to bed the first time, Sherlock.”

 

“I didn’t really have to go then.” He says chewing on his bottom lip and making a show of shuffling his feet. “But I really have to go now.”

 

“Alright Sherlock, go on then, and back to bed after.” John turns back to his paper but Sherlock continues to fidget in doorway.  

 

“I need help, Daddy.” Sherlock mumbles, making his best sad puppy face.

 

“Right, of course.” John rolls his eyes as he tosses the paper onto the coffee table and pulls himself up. Sherlock had been fiercely independent about using the toilet less than a half hour ago. “Let’s go then little man. Don’t want to have wet jammies do we?” Sherlock shakes his head emphatically before turning and trotting down the hall in front of John. Sherlock flicks the light on and moves to stand in front of the toilet, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

 

John comes forward and unzips the onesie to mid-thigh.  “I think if Daddy has to help you with your pajamas you’re probably too little to stand up to have a wee Pet.”  John says, guiding Sherlock’s arms out of his sleeves. Sherlock huffs at him and makes to retort but John’s cocked eyebrow stops him. John helps him tug his trainers down and then leans against the sink, trying not to smirk at the bright blush across those impossibly high cheekbones as Sherlock places his bum down on the toilet. When Sherlock is finished John helps him up and back into his clothes.

 

Sherlock flushes the toilet eagerly. “In the southern hemisphere the water goes down the other way round.” John just nods as he helps Sherlock wash his hands before ushering him back into the bedroom.

 

“No whinging now. Into bed.” Sherlock slips under the covers, pouting so hard it surely must hurt. John sits beside him, placing a warm hand in the center of his chest. “What are our bedtime rules Pet?”

 

“They’re on the fridge Daddy.”

 

“Yes, I know they are, but I want to hear that you remember them.”

 

Sherlock glares at the ceiling for a minute before fingers gently tapping his chest encourage him. “I don’t have to sleep, but I have to lie quietly and rest.”

 

John hums, “Yes Pet, and what’s the other one?”

 

Sherlock’s face is mutinous but the hand on his chest starts to rub small circles and he relaxes into the touch. “And I have to stay in bed unless it’s a ‘megency.” John smiles to himself. Sherlock only talks “little” when he’s exhausted.

 

“We’ve been having a hard time with that last bed time rule this evening haven’t we?” There’s a small nod from the little detective. “And that’s alright, it’s a tough one to follow I know. But this is going to be your last warning, alright love? You’ve had a drink, you’ve been to the loo, and you’ve had three tuck ins. So the next time you’re out of bed there’ll be a smacked bottom in it for you. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Daddy.”

 

“Alright then Pet. Goodnight.” John drops a kiss on his forehead before moving out the door.

  
***

 

This is ridiculous, Sherlock thinks as he flops around in his bed again. No position is comfortable, not even with John's jumper up against his cheek. He just isn't tired, and it’s unfair for John to make him stay in bed when he can’t sleep. 

 

He decides that he will just march right into the sitting room and tell John that. He certainly won’t smack him if they discuss this logically. Could he? The thought of a smack causes Sherlock to hesitate on the edge of the bed. John’s tired; it couldn’t be much of a smack. And he has on his sleeper and his trainers. He’s padded. Besides, he nods to himself; John isn’t going to smack him. He will be forced to listen to logic and allow Sherlock to stay up with him.

  


With a final determined nod, Sherlock leaves the nursery. He moves very carefully this time, skipping the squeaky board. This time John will have no idea that he’s coming. Soon he’s standing in the middle of the sitting room staring at John behind his paper.  

 

Sherlock clears his throat, shifting nervously. "John..." He voice sounds smaller then he wants it too. "I feel that this sleeping thing is completely irrational... and I feel like we need to renegotiate the terms of our relationship... especially this bedtime bit."

 

John jumps at the sound of his little boy's voice, not realizing that he’s been standing there for a few minutes. He drops his paper and fixes him with a rock hard glare. 

 

"Excuse me?" John can hardly take him seriously. Sherlock is squirming like a toddler, his curls tossed around in messy bed head, and in one hand he’s still dragging around that awful jumper.

 

"You heard me," Sherlock raises his chin in a pitiful attempt of defiance. "This bedtime bit has got to go."  
  
John's face is unreadable and not for the first time Sherlock curses himself; Daddy...no, not Daddy; John, is not someone that he can deduce anymore. "I can't sleep and I don't want to lie down and stare at the walls. I'd like to have a grownup conversation" He winces as he hears the whinge in his own voice, knowing he isn't really helping his case.

  
"You know what you have to do if you want to discuss this like adults." John's face softens as he says this, watching his boy fidget in front of him.

  
"No. I mean. Can't we do it like this? I feel very big."

  
"No, Sherlock. If you want to renegotiate then you need to safe word and age up for me. Otherwise we are going to continue forward just the same."

  
"I don't want to safe word." Sherlock mumbles to the floor. "I just don't want to go to bed."

  
John puts the paper down and beckons Sherlock closer before drawing the boy between his knees with a tug on his wrist. "What is your safe word, Pet?"

  
Sherlock chews his lips. "Redbeard, Daddy."

  
"Do you need to use your safe word, Sherlock?" John's voice is calm; his thumb making patterns on the inside of Sherlock's wrist.

  
"No, Daddy." He's staring at John through his fringe, his voice still terribly small.

  
"Alright then love...Who decides when bedtime is?"

  
"You do, but..." Sherlock is cut off by a shake of John's head.

  
"What did Daddy tell you would happen if you got out of bed again?"

  
Sherlock can feel his eyes grow hot and he can't remember why he thought he would avoid the smacks he's about to receive. "My bottom..."

 

"Yes Sherlock. What about your bottom."

 

"It’s gunna get smacks." Sherlock is frowning, his eyes wet.

 

"Yes it is. But getting out of bed isn't the only issue at the moment is it, Pet?"

 

Sherlock tips his head sideways to look at John. "It's not?"

 

"I think what's just happened counts as trying to manipulate Daddy."

 

Sherlock's eyes get huge at the enormity of what John is saying, "Noooo Daddy. I was trying to cammuni...comoon..." He stops, flustered.

 

"Communicate?" He nods emphatically, grateful Daddy understands. "This wasn't the proper way to discuss this Sherlock. I'm going to let it slide this once, but consider this your only warning on the issue. Understood?" He nods again. 

 

"Good then. Let's get this over with and get you tucked back in shall we?"

 

Sherlock whimpers but nods as Daddy guides him over his lap. The first swat stings more than Sherlock thought possible with his bottom padded in layers. The half dozen that follow warm his entire backside and he's openly crying when it's over. 

 

Daddy pulls him up and into his lap and snuggles him, whispering forgiveness into his skin until his eyes dry and he's only occasionally sniffling.

 

"Alright Pet, let's put you to bed for the last time tonight."

 

John guides Sherlock off of his lap and can’t help but smirk at the pout still on the boy’s face. Even with a warm bottom he still looks ready to strop. John holds out a hand that Sherlock takes immediately, wrapping his long fingers around John’s as if he’ll never let go.

 

John tugs Sherlock behind him, flipping off the television and the lamps in the living room. He can feel the little detective trying to work out what’s happening and has to keep himself from laughing out loud. He’s always been impressed by the detectives keen mind, but he isn’t to proud to admit that he enjoys keeping him stumped when he’s little.

 

John scoops the jumper off the floor where it had been forgotten before guiding Sherlock out of the sitting room and out onto the landing.

 

“Come on Pet. Let’s go to bed.” John soothes as he feels Sherlock balk for moment, worried that Daddy is going to leave him on the naughty step, but John simply tugs his hand until they are heading up the stairs. “You’re going to sleep up here with Daddy so that he can make sure that you spend the rest of the night in bed.”

 

Sherlock pretends to pout but is clearly pleased by the turn of events, squeezing John’s hand in pleasure. John opens the door at the top of the stairs and is almost toppled over as Sherlock rushes into the room, flopping onto the bed.

 

“Come on Daddy, bed time.”

 

John chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re damn lucky Daddy thinks you’re adorable when you’re a pain in the arse Sherlock Holmes.”  Sherlock hums his agreement, smiling broadly. “Get under the covers, Pet.” John says as he flips on the bedside lamp and tosses the forgotten jumper at the little detective before moving to the dresser and changing into his pajamas. He turns back to the bed a few moments later to see Sherlock lying on his stomach under the covers, jumper pressed under his cheek, and a thumb in his mouth. He’s watching John with eyes already drifting closed in sleep.

 

John feels himself grin like a mad man at the sight and gets into bed beside his little one.  As Sherlock snuggles into him, resting a curly head on his shoulder, John can’t remember why it was so important for Sherlock to go to sleep in his own bed.  “I’m completely bewitched, aren’t I?” He mumbles into Sherlock’s forehead, dropping a kiss there. Sherlock hums around the thumb in his mouth, but a quick glance down confirms that the boy is already out like a light. “G’nite, Pet.” John whispers to the sleeping figure as he flips off the bedside lamp.

 


End file.
